


A Razor in His Shoe

by jesseofthenorth



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 17:05:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5634946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesseofthenorth/pseuds/jesseofthenorth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint really isn't Leroy Brown and this isn't a Jim Croce song. He does  have a concussion, someone to rescue and no fucking clue. </p><p>Or: Another way Bucky was saved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Razor in His Shoe

**Author's Note:**

> Written for H/C Bingo round 6 prompt Head Trauma

Clint woke up (regained consciousness) in a cold cement room with no light and no window. A cell. He had his jeans, a t shirt, his boots and nothing else. He didn't have a fucking clue where he was and he was pretty sure he had a concussion but Clint let himself grin. Stupid bastards left him his boots. He checked to see if his stash was still intact, sure enough both things were still there. One in each boot.

  
He gave himself a minute to gain his bearings before tentatively moving. First stretching his legs a bit then testing his weight on both his arms at once. Nothing hurt but the back of his head. Ha! He was practically half way out of... wherever the hell this was. Nothing broken, and he was still armed? This was going to be a cakewalk. Clint sat up the rest of the way, carefully in case his was a little worse than it felt. Okay so maybe a little dizzy. Also a bit pukey too. Whatever, he could deal.

"Awesome" he said, and then held very still long enough for the nausea to pass.

Then he looked around trying to get his bearings. It was pretty dark in this particular hole, no real window just a dirty transom mounted high on the wall, and a steel door that was flush with the wall no door knob to bust.

He couldn't see much but Clint was sure there was someone/something in here with him. He could feel someone watching him. Clint had enough smarts to pay attention when he got that prickle along the back of his neck that said he was being observed.

Clint brought his legs in and under himself, getting ready, in case he had to get to his feet fast. One of his boots made a sharp scraping noise on the cement floor and someone startled at the sound. Clint heard them gasp.

"Hello?" He asked quietly.

There was only stillness in reply.

He looked around more carefully than his original cursory glance. There in the darkest corner he saw what he was fairly certain was a person holding very still, crouched down, trying not to be seen. He could see the arch of what he was sure was a hunched shoulder, it was shaking with a faint tremor.

"Hey" he said and the person became even more still. "Are you okay?" There was no answer.

Clint moved and there was that sound again, a sharp intake of breath he guessed, the kind you make when you are scared shitless.

Still crouched down and doing his best to ignore the dizziness that kept sneaking up on him when he moved, Clint moved a little closer. Whoever it was scrambled back. Clint saw what he guessed were legs moving, pressing themselves even further back into the corner. Even his eyes couldn't see much in this gloom, but Clint knew a fear response when he saw one.

"Hey it's okay" he said placatingly and held out a hand. "I ain't gonna hurt ya. Not unless you try to hurt me. I just wanna see if you're okay."

Nothing. No answer and he was pretty sure no breathing. Whoever it was, was holding their breath, waiting for something bad to happen. Clint needed a moment to think. Escaping on his own, killing a few of these assholes in the process was one thing. Another prisoner in this cell changed that, though. Complicated things. It would have been a lot easier to just bust a few heads and get the fuck out of dodge, but Clint wasn't sure he could leave someone down here and save his own ass.

He needed more information before he could figure out exactly how complicated this was going to get.

"I'm Clint. I got smacked in the back of the head by someone while I was trying to steal a hard drive. I guess the guys I was stealing it from didn’t like that much, and didn’t feel like calling the cops, what with them being a bunch of gun smuggling assholes. How'd you end up here?"

He waited a few seconds for an answer and waited some more. Nothing. Just the barely disguised and very quiet panicked breathing.

"You got a name at least?" Clint asked.

There was a scuffling sound and then a very quiet and ragged voice said "No."

Not what Clint was expecting. At all. "No name?"

No answer. "How did you end up here?"

No words for an answer this time either, just a very distressed sound.

"Are you hurt?" Clint asked, moving closer to lend aid, without thinking about it. There was a panicked scramble in response and his cellmate moved away fast to the other corner of the cell.

At least there, there was a bit more light, so Clint could see something. What he saw was so unexpected Clint didn't really no how to process it for a couple of seconds. An extremely thin and dirty man, stark naked, huddled in that corner.

It was enough to decide everything for him. He was getting the fuck out of here and this guy was most likely coming with him.

"I ain't gonna hurt you." Clint told the obviously frightened man. " I'd like to help you."

There was a beat of silence and then "How?" He was asked in that same whisper quiet, ragged voice.

"Can you walk?" Clint asked.

The guy nodded.

"Could you run if you had too?"

Another nod.

"Why they got you locked down here?" He didn't expect to get a real answer but Clint was good at reading people and he could tell enough to make a decision, it might turn out to be the wrong one but Clint really didn't think so.

The guy's shoulder slouched "Don't know." He said. "Don’t 'member." He hesitated a moment and then added "They keep doing things to me, hurting me. I don't want to be here no more."

Clint nodded. He hated that shit and it just made him certain getting this dude out was the right move "Can you fight? Or shoot?"

The man looked at him startled and if possible even more scared.

"No! Please.... no" the last was a whisper. And was all that Clint needed. The guy was at the very least terrified, and Clint wasn't gonna worry too much about busting out a guy who didn't even want to fight. At least not until they were out of there.

"Okay." Clint told him. "You wanna get out of here?"

That got him a hesitant nod and then immediately downcast eyes and hunched shoulders, in response. Clint didn't like that much, the guy obviously expecting a negative response, possibly a violent one from the defensive shoulders. He'd deal with that later. Right now he was going to get them the fuck out of here.

He took off both his boots and got his back-ups out, stashed under the insole of each. A duct tape wrapped razor blade in one hand and a 4 inch piece of stiff wire in the other. It was all Clint needed for now.

"You can stay behind me the whole time if you want. Just. Promise you won't freak out and run away, or freak out and give us up. Okay?"

"Stay quiet?" The guy whispered.

"Yeah" Clint answered. "You remembered a name yet?"

The man stilled and looked right at Clint searching for something in his face. He apparently found something not terrible. "James" he said and closed his eyes, hunching over as if expecting a blow of some kind. It made Clint want to shoot someone. He needed a gun for that first

"Pleased to meetcha James. Let's get the fuck out of here"

The guy, James, nodded and got to his feet. He did it slowly, Clint could see he was struggling. He needed to get some light on this situation and find out exactly what he had to work with. He had to know if he was going to have to carry this guy out of here. That would have an impact on his ability to rescue both of them. He could do it but it would be harder.

“Are you hurt? Injured anywhere?” He asked once James was on his feet.

James shook his head and turned toward Clint and that’s when Clint saw. James only had one arm; his left was missing just at the shoulder.

“Oh boy” was all Clint could think to say for a couple of seconds. He took a moment to have a proper look, assessing.

It was long since healed, even if it looked like the arm was fucking butchered. It was covered in ropey, pale scar tissue and that meant it was an old wound, nothing fresh enough to be an immediate danger to James' life.

He wanted to ask what happened. Whatever it was had hurt like hell, because what was left of the shoulder was a real mess, but none of that was even remotely Clint’s business and James didn’t owe him any answers.

So Clint just nodded and moved toward the door.

As long as the lock was as simple as it looked, it would take him no time to get them out of the cell. It looked like it fit a skeleton key which was both weird and stupid.

The Barton (bad) luck was not happening in this instance and, as a result, it took him approximately 8 seconds to pick what was, in fact, an antique lock, and gently ease the door open a crack see what he could see. There turned out to be an empty hallway with the same cinder block walls as their cell and a couple of bare incandescent bulbs to light the way. Not a single incompetent bad guy was in sight. At least for the moment.

He listened for a minute and heard nothing but his own breathing, not a murmur or a footstep or the scuff of a step. No one seemed to be lingering just out of sight. Clint glanced back at his cell mate “Ready?” he mouthed. James nodded, and Clint opened the door far enough for them to slip out. He did it carefully and slowly, not knowing if the hinges would swing free or squeal in protest. Another point in the incompetent jackass column: the hinges were smooth and apparently well oiled.

They didn’t exactly creep forward, really not Clint’s style, but there was definitely some stealth involved. Clint was no slouch in the getting quietly through enemy territory department, but James was so quiet Clint had to keep looking back to see if James was still there. He was. Right behind him. He was also still naked and barefoot in this filthy rat hole. Clint needed to find a bad guy to knock unconscious so he could steal James some clothes. Clint stepped on something that crunched and broke under his boot. And some boots, he definitely needed to find something to put on James’ feet.

Clint hesitated for a moment. He had no idea which way to go. So he just picked a direction and hoped for the best. He got barely two steps before he felt a hand on his arm. He looked back and James was shaking his head and pointing cautiously in the opposite direction.

“That the way out?” Clint whispered and James nodded again. So, they changed course and Clint said a silent prayer that his new guide had any better clue than he did how to get the fuck out.

The first guy they saw was as big as a fucking house, thick ropes of muscle and shoulders as wide as a door. Clint was just glad he'd seen the goon before the goon saw him. Clint was not as big as a house and he was no slouch in the area of well developed musculature but seriously, this guy looked like he could snap Clint's neck with one hand. Clint had no plans to let that happen at all. He needed to get this guy down as quickly and quietly as possible. They needed to get a hell of a lot closer to the exit before he did anything as stupid as start a firefight. Also, he needed a gun.

Thankfully there was a very convenient door alcove for them to crouch hide in while Clint picked his moment. He motioned for James to stay down and stay back. Clint let Mr. Built-like-a-brick-shithouse get most of the way past them before he lashed out with the razor and hamstrung the fucker. When he hit the ground pulling in a huge breath for what would no doubt be an equally huge scream, Clint kicked him in the head as hard as he could. Let it never be said that Clint Barton let the rules of fair play get him killed. He was getting the fuck out of here and he was taking his terrified former cell mate with him.

Clint looked his fallen opponent over while he leaned against the nearest wall and tried to keep from puking. Then he dragged the unconscious body into the alcove they had just vacated.

He didn’t hesitate for even a second to steal everything this asshole had that was of any use, starting with his boots, his jacket, his cargo pants… and the belt to hold them in place on James’s extremely skinny waist. He handed the stuff to James who looked blankly at him "get dressed!" Clint hissed at him. The look of surprise and maybe gratitude on James' face made Clint want to shoot someone. He settled for kicking the big oaf on the floor in the ass then he took the car keys and wallet out of the guy’s pocket.

The boots didn't fit James, they were about 3 sizes too big, but it beat the hell out of running around barefoot. Clint took the side arm, a not too terrible Walther P38 and that would do well enough for clearing a path and rearming if they met resistance. There was also a ridiculously huge knife, which he took because Clint might be kind of a snob when it came to weaponry, but he wasn't an idiot.

He used the guys own socks to make a gag (yes Clint was exactly that kind of asshole) and swiped a couple of zip ties out of the cargo pants to immobilize him. They didn't need this asshole coming for revenge at an inopportune moment. They left their victim stuffed in behind some crates wearing only boxers and a t shirt and crept out into the hallway again.  
The next encounter went much less smoothly.They were, thankfully, not surprised by the small group, who were making enough noise you’d have to be deaf not to hear them. But Clint was wobbly as fuck and his head was really starting to hurt.

Clint had the close quarters fighting skills he needed, even though they all had guns and they all wanted to use them. But Clint was fighting to stay on his feet and he wanted to get a hell of a lot closer to the exit before a bunch of gunfire tipped everyone in the general vicinity that something was amiss. So he was willing to settle for beating the shit out of them as fast as he could. And maybe find James a pair of boots he could realistically run in.

The problem occurred when the guy Clint was trying to rescue started freaking out. He didn’t make a sound so they were at least still undiscovered. No, what happened was that he was just standing there staring down the hall toward where the sound of footsteps and casual chatter was coming from. He was standing there and when Clint hissed at him to take cover James did nothing. Didn’t blink, didn’t breath, didn’t move. It took Clint a little longer than it should have to recognize the signs of pure terror. It finally clicked when James started to shake.

“Shit” Clint muttered (quietly) and grabbed him around the middle, dragging him out of the hall and into one of the recessed doorways that seemed to be everywhere. He couldn’t get James to crouch down and actually hide. All he did was stand there shaking and gasping. At least he was breathing. Clint, at some undefined later moment, would think about what these assholes could have done to inspire suck abject fear in a person. Right now he had – Clint peeked around the corner almost at ground level- four assholes all dressed alike and sporting this weird octopus logo thingy on the front of what were clearly uniforms to take out as quietly as possible.

Clint rolled his shoulders and did his best to push James behind him. He swallowed a couple of times hoping he had it in him to win this fight.

He was ready when the first of them walked past, and Clint took him out with a roundhouse kick that made something go crunch and laid the guy flat out immediately.

As he landed from the kick, Clint used the momentum of the hit to carry him forward into a the guts of one guy sending them both crashing into the guy behind him. As he pushed himself back to his feet Clint's elbow contacted hard with the nose of guy on the bottom of the pile. A well-placed knee to the groin finished the job. Clint drew his legs under himself and pushed forward hard putting the entire weight of his body into an uppercut that the snapped another guys head back hard. Clint turned to deal with the fourth guy and was met with the barrel of a P38 pointed right between his eyes. Clearly weird-octopus-logo guys had a thing for them.

Clint got very still. The guy was not enough of an idiot to stand too close. Clint gauged the distance between them, close enough a bullet wouldn't miss, far enough away that Clint didn’t have much hope of getting his hand on the pistol before it went off.

"What are you doing out of your cell?" The man with the gun asked.

"Wasn't really my taste. " Clint smirked at him "Thought I'd find something more comfortable."

"Well I'm sure we can find a deeper, darker hole to throw you in for your trouble"

The thought of someplace worse than where he woke up- the sound of the pistol cocking stopped that train of thought short. Shit.

Clint didn't take his eyes off the gun, the hand holding it, or asshole pointing at him. Which was why he saw a bare skinny arm snake around the guys throat and snap tight. He heard a nauseating crunch and then a limp body was hitting the floor. James stood over him panting and looking like he was going to throw up.

Clint felt a relief so strong in him his strength failed him for a moment. But he only had a moment and then James started to shake and his knees collapsed. Clint dove forward to catch him before he could hit the floor.

James flinched away curling his hands over his head clearly expecting yet another blow.

"Hey dude. You're okay. It's okay." Clint said putting his hand of James' shoulder causing another flinch. Clint left his hand there trying to transmit reassurance rather than threat. "Dude. James you just saved my life!" Clint whispered crouching down beside James huddled form. "I anit made, man. I'm grateful! I'd be dead if it weren't for you. And I know you are not feeling to fucking great right now but buddy we gotta get the hell outta here now if we are getting out at all"

James head came up at that "Out? I can still go?"

"Damned straight you're going. Any idea which way though?"

James nodded at him and pointed down the hall. "I know a secret way" he whispered and stood up. Clint followed him.

He didn't know how secret the way they went was but it was certainly deserted. It was also dirty, dark and clearly disused. He thought they had hit a dead end at one point and they sort of had but James crouched down and showed Clint a grate over some sort of access shaft. It was padlocked shut. "Don't know how to do that thing with the wire" James said and stepped back so Clint could do it. The grate opened into a metal culvert that was too small to stand up in. Awesome. At least he wouldn't have far to fall if he passed out, since they were going to be crawling on hands and knees. Clint pulled the grate closed behind them and slipped the padlock back into place before snapping it shut as well. He hoped locking themselves in here would only keep the bad guys from finding them and not lead to them getting killed.

Clint tucked the Walther into the back of his pants and started to crawl. James followed.

It seemed like it took hours. Maybe it did. It was a slight incline that never changed. It stank of mold and earth. It was dark as shit. Clint had no idea where they were going. After a while he didn't much care as long as he got the fuck out. His head hurt. He felt like puking every time he moved and he was seriously starting to lose the fucking plot, having a hard time remembering what he was doing there. Except for the part where there was a guy with one arm who needed rescuing, struggling along behind him walking in a crouch because you needed two arms to crawl. Clint's arms were shaking and his head was fucking throbbing by the time he saw the light ahead of them.

"Thank fuck" he muttered and stopped to rest. He sat down hard and looked back at James. "How you doing there buddy?" He asked

"Almost out" James whispered in awe.

"Looks like. Any idea what's out there?"

James shook his head.

"Well" Clint said "let's find out before I keel over, okay?"

James nodded and waited for Clint to move.

It turned out 'out there' was a bank at the back of a massive truck stop. The culvert/tunnel they were in had a padlock on it too. It was rusty as shit and Clint wasn't really firing on all cylinders but it only took him a few seconds to pop that lock. He pushed the grate open and then fell onto wet pavement.

He lay there on his back looking up at a lit street light and wondered if he could even move. Then James face came into his field of vision and Clint rolled over to puke. When he was done he staggered to his feet and asked "You know how to drive?"

James appeared to think about it for a minute then shook his head.

"Looks like we're hitching a ride then." Clint said. He grabbed James wrist and walked toward the parking lot. Place like this there was always someone who'd give you a ride.


End file.
